At a table in the center of the Chrome Grille, a man clad in black leather and rose-tinted sunglasses who looks remarkably like Elvis sits with an aloof, aristocratic bearing. When I introduce myself, his eyes suddenly fill with tears. A gray-haired woman in a white fur coat sitting beside him gently pats his arm and, in a thick German accent, says: "It's OK, Junior, tell him." After composing himself, Junior removes his glasses and fixes me with pale blue eyes. "My name is Elvis Presley Jr.," he says, "and Elvis Presley was my daddy."

The tale Junior relates falls somewhere between "Rosemary's Baby" and "The X-Files." Born to Elvis' high-school sweetheart Bonnie Marie, Junior was concealed from the world for fear that the revelation would derail his young father's career. While Elvis was kind to his illegitimate son, he was oblivious to the abuse heaped on him by Vernon Presley and Col. Tom Parker, Elvis' longtime manager. Pausing frequently to steady his emotions, Junior speaks about being drugged by his father's cronies as a child, held near-prisoner on an island off the coast of Florida, and later getting blacklisted as an aspiring singer by the Colonel. "People wanted Elvis to believe he was in control, but he wasn't," Junior says darkly.

Ursula Egger, the woman in the fur coat, says she met Vernon's second wife, Dee, while Elvis was stationed at an Army base in Germany in the late '50s. When Elvis was discharged, she returned to Memphis with Vernon and Dee, at whose home she babysat Dee's three children and, she says, Junior. Stroking Junior's arm, Ursula recalls how Elvis loved her homemade cream puffs and horsed around with his son in Graceland's backyard.

When I wonder why he doesn't attempt to establish paternity with a DNA test and challenge the Presley estate in court, Junior smiles ruefully. "Most of my life has been wasted," he says. "But in my heart, I've forgiven my father. I don't want to go through any of that."

This morning, however, Junior is despondent because the Elvis Presley Enterprises publicity director has again declined to leave him a complimentary pass to Graceland, where he says he has not set foot for 16 years because he refuses to pay the cost of admission. "I will not pay them money to see my half of the house."

He is interrupted by an elderly woman, who hands him a large eagle-shaped brooch decorated with rhinestones. "Happy birthday, Junior," she says warmly.

"God bless you," Junior replies, his eyes glistening with tears.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"Do you know what the fans tell me most often?" Patsy Andersen asks me. "They say, 'I saw Elvis perform, and I knew he was singing just to me.' Now, you and I know that onstage, Elvis couldn't see 5 feet past the footlights, but he made every single fan feel like there were just the two of them there."

Patsy and I are drinking Diet Cokes, sprawled on the carpet of an empty conference room at the Marriott. She has worked at Graceland for 20 years, which is difficult to believe, because Patsy, who looks a little like Vanna White, appears to be about 35. Her job is to communicate with the officers of the 600 fan clubs around the world via daily faxes and e-mails. It is, she lets on, hugely time consuming, but the fans' appreciation -- like the hundreds of cards and letters she receives every Christmas -- makes it worthwhile. "I could probably travel around the world and never have to pay for a hotel room," Patsy says matter-of-factly.

Patsy seems to adore the fans nearly as much, and says it is sometimes difficult to balance her obligations to Elvis Presley Enterprises with her relationship with the fans, some of whom she has known since the '70s. "Often it's easy to forget that we are a business, and are here to make a profit."

The questions fans ask Patsy most often concern Elvis-related tabloid stories and Elvis' daughter Lisa Marie. She also receives frequent testimonials about the life-altering power of Elvis' music, and describes a recent letter about a suicide attempt that was foiled by an Elvis gospel song heard in a supermarket.

Perhaps the largest wave of correspondence addressed to Graceland came in the wake of Gail Brewer-Giorgio's 1988 bestseller, "Is Elvis Alive?" The book, which claimed that Elvis had staged his death in 1977, came packaged with a cassette containing someone who sounds like Elvis discussing the attempted assassination of President Reagan, which took place in 1981.

"What amazed me is we did not get a single letter that was angry at Elvis," Patsy says. "Almost all of them were along the lines of 'Your secret is safe with me' or 'If you want a home-cooked meal, I have an empty guest room.' Everyone was just so happy to think that he was alive."

Day 5

At the Marriott, the Elvis Presley G.I. Blues Dance Party is in full swing. This year the party has a patriotic theme, and the ballroom is decorated with tinsel and tiny American flags. A DJ is playing "Jailhouse Rock" while several hundred fans gyrate on a fold-up dance floor; on a video screen, an early-'60s Elvis in an army uniform is serenading co-star Juliet Prowse while riding a ski lift.

At the edge of the dance floor, a plump Japanese woman in a fuchsia sweater waves a Heineken in time to the music. She is wearing a large rectangular button that says "Elvis '67," with a red LED that blinks over the "i." In broken English, Yoko, a cosmetics company employee from Tokyo, explains that she has been to Graceland "50 or 60 times," and that this year she almost didn't make the trip because of worries about terrorism and anthrax. When I ask why she finally decided to come, she replies: "For Ervees."

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